#wildark

[dsrtrose]

she  isn't  quite  sure  when  she  got  hit  -  the  heat  of  the  moment  had  kept  her  on  her  feet,  the  need  to  defend  and  protect  those  around  her  blurred  the  lines  with  the  violence  committed  in  the  name  of  that  very  act.  somewhere  in  the  midst  of  all  of  it  ...  she  started  bleeding  and  didn't  stop.

eliza  still  has  half  a  mind  to  trail  after  the  remaining  o'driscolls  as  they  run  for  their  lives  -  goddamn  cowards  -  until  charles  takes  all  her  weight  onto  his  strength.  she  whimpers  a  note  of  discomfort  before  she  can  silence  the  noise,  gritting  her  teeth  as  charles  helps  her  into  his  arms.

"it  isn't  -  ...  's  not  that  bad,"    she  lies,  head  lolling  against  charles'  chest  as  he  marches  them  toward  taima,  swallowing  thickly  and  preparing  to  adjust  herself  before  he  lurches  her  onto  the  horse  -  shit,  that  hurts.  this  fucking  hurts  -  the  type  of  pain  that  turns  white-hot  and  blinding  with  every  movement.

"i'm  sorry,"    she  gulps,  fervently  trying  to  stay  upright  and  conscious,    "i  don't  know  when  it  -  ...  happened."

*        continued        /        @wildark        🤍

[bakkr]

“ i could kill that guy and eat it afterwards… “ fr. nicholas.

well what the fuck. a fine line to walk ; & walk it she did. as words filtered through & understanding took hold, v couldn't help but to feel torn -- on one hand, she would repeat to herself once more ; what the fuck. but on the other ? there was something to be said for honesty, & when it came right down to it . . . he wasn't wrong. ❛❛ you sure could, bud. ❜❜ she would response after a pause, tone kept light & conversational. ❛❛ but maybe . . . don't ? ❜❜

[sharp-teeth-and-wide-grins]

( Lionel Cornwall-Timmins ; continued )

       𝐎𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐋𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐞𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲. It was just his luck. Strawberry was his home, but Lionel wasn’t immune to a sense of adventure after he found stable living. He had heard about Blackwater ever since he was a child, the way it tapped into modernization but still held the scenic view of prairies, valleys, and hills that romanticized the old West. It was said that its spot by the river had allowed the town to expand in rapid succession, bringing in all sorts of shops and merchandise that there was no need to leave Blackwater for cities like Saint Denis. Blackwater was what Strawberry could be if Mayor Timmins wasn’t interested in keeping Strawberry a small tourist destination for those who wanted a taste of the woodlands. 

       Strawberry. Lionel’s thoughts kept drifting towards it as he glanced out the saloon windows, watching as shopkeepers closed their shops early and Pinkertons shooed citizens out of the streets, which brought most of the townsfolk to the saloon; it was one of the few buildings that remained open after the massacre. Lionel had found his way to the bar, leaning against it with his arms close to his chest, staring down at the polished wood. He was talking to the bartender, but as he looked up, all he heard was from the man beside him holding a glass of whisky in his hand. Lionel scoffed quietly, a mix of amusement and offense. He could tell him that he went to a prestigious private school, learned proper etiquette and that being a good proper lad was much more than attending church on Sunday, but he bit his cheek to silence his tongue. He couldn’t tell if the man was making fun of him, or praising him. 

        Eyeing the glass in his hand, he guessed the former.

        ❝ I’m not judging you, sir, ❞ he replied, trying to ease him. He was looking up at him, but as he glanced down at his clothing, the way he dressed stood out. Lionel always dressed in fine suits, but that was only due to habit in private school, but… he dressed… more interesting amongst the rest of the men in the bar. ❝ Might I ask what your occupation is, sir? Are you a banker? ❞ Banker or a lawyer perhaps, he couldn’t decipher between the two. He could be a politician, though what he ran for he couldn’t be sure.

@wildark

[dsrtrose]

muses are forced to share a bed. ( from jack. tho he's a jerk and takes up 89% of the bed and he knows it. )

it's  colder  than  she  cares  to  admit  -  more  pointedly,  eliza  is  more  affected  by  the  chill  than  she  cares  to  admit.  together,  they're  holed  up  in  a  single  hotel  room  in  the  heart  of  st.  denis;  since  when  this  city  has  been  affected  by  cooler  summer  nights,  she  hasn't  a  clue.  that  doesn't  change  the  fact  that  jack  is  taking  up  more  than  half  the  bed,  and  even  as  eliza  attempts  to  create  the  smallest  wedge  of  empty  space  between  them,  she's  closer  to  rolling  off  the  cot  entirely.

she  exhales  a  bitter  huff  as  she  turns  on  her  side  to  face  him,  desperately  grabbing  at  the  quilt  that  he  hoards.  "jack,"  she  hisses,  voice  low  in  the  quiet  of  his  slumber,  "i'm  cold."  it's  far  more  pathetic  than  she  intended  to  sound  -  if  he  takes  too  long  to  oblige  her  wishes  for  further  warmth,  she'll  wedge  her  way  closer  to  him  -  under  his  arms,  nearer  against  his  body  ...  and  regret  it  later  in  the  morning.

*      MEME,    still  accepting      /    @wildark    🤍

[sharp-teeth-and-wide-grins]

I like the narrative that Jack also would haunt jacob in some ways that I find creepy but pretty cool. especially when it comes to his sister. like, for jacob, jack almost feels like he's over Jacob's shoulder kinda thing. :)

Unprompted ask (in reference to this post). / @wildark -- always accepting

Yeah! I was kind of thinking Jacob turns more callous and cold like Colm and Jack combined. Jacob still holds onto his strong morals (like he won't attack women of the VDLG, yet he'll still go after the men with a vengeance). I think he had to turn more brutal to gain respect in the O'Driscoll gang, unfortunately, because he probably got a lot of flack for being the only British guy in the gang. I don't think Jacob enjoys it, especially if he's compared to Jack, but he just can't get out of that mindset/step away from that action because he kind of entrenched himself in that. He cut off all his bridges, he had to gain respect by being ruthless, and now he has to keep that reputation up to keep trust in line (whatever trust there is in the O'Driscolls).

I know Jacob kind of turns into an oc at this point in this verse, but I really was intrigued with toying with a more darker Jacob to see how he could turn out. I think he's a step above Colm and Jack, but someone can equate him equally as bad as them. They both probably turned Jacob for the worst, imagining he was likely still quite young when he was involved in both of their gangs. Like I definitely believe Jacob would be involved in kidnapping Kieran and knocking out Arthur during the peace treaty, he can be really ruthless when it calls for it.

Then when Evie comes in, Jacob is kind of faced with his past again.

[sharp-teeth-and-wide-grins]

( Sean MacGuire ; continued )

        𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝: shoot him between the eyes, it's all he's good for. No second thought, no second chances. Darragh never took kindly to threats, and his son less so. Sean’s line of robberies was nothing to Darragh’s burning of estates, robbing of their horses, killing their men, and being at the forefront of a bubbling revolution. While his lineage is brim with criminals fighting for survival every day of their lives, Sean wagered Ike wasn’t as clean as many would think bounty hunters are. He wasn’t a fool to not know that some outlaws were turned into sheriffs and deputies, repeating the same behavior as the lawmen they swore against in their past, a criminal just chasing another criminal. Ike? Probably wasn’t any different.

        Sean stares at him at his place on the ground, unwavering as Ike hooks his fingers into his gunbelt. His eyebrows furrow, his eyes darken as Ike uses fake sympathy to jab even more at Sean. How’s the head? How would Ike’s head feel after he puts a bullet in it? 

        ❝ Feckin’ fantastic. ❞ Irish accent draws thick, curling his fingers into the dirt below. His hands are tied, but if his ropes would loosen a little bit more, he would lunge himself forward and snag the revolver from his un belt nay second. ❝ Just entertaining, aren’t I? I wouldn’t laugh too hard, Ike, keep all the oxygen that ya’ can while you still have it. ❞

@wildark

[redemn]

a  great  many  ordeals  had  come  and  gone  in  his  lifetime  ,      yet  none  of  them  could  keep  him  down  for  the  count  .      he  can  deal  with  pinkertons  shooting  at  him  ,      can  deal  with  o’driscolls  dragging  him  through  the  mud  and  dangling  him  upside  down  and  peppering  him  with  stab  wounds  until  he  can’t  stay  awake  .      so  it's  an  old  and  ancient  irony  that  lingers  like  a  bad  taste  in  his  mouth  that  a  few  worthless  pieces  of  law  and  a  bad  tumble  down  a  particularly  steep  cliffside  full  of  sharp  boulders  and  trees  with  jutting  branches  could  do  him  in  like  this  .      he'd  laugh  now  ,      lying  half-swathed  in  crimson-stained  bandages  ,      if  he  weren't  too  weak  to  do  it  .

@wildark  .      ❝  don’t  die  on  me  now  .    ❞  (  from  charles  .  )

his  breaths  blow  heavy  and  ragged  through  his  lips  as  strives  ,      with  great  effort  ,      to  let  through  the  words  he  wants  to  say  .        ❝        i    …    ain’t    …        ❞        a  numbing  cold  settles  itself  in  the  back  of  his  mind  ,      a  threatening  presence  just  beneath  his  shoulder  blades  .      wakefulness  feels  like  needles  in  his  eyes        he  squeezes  them  shut  and  falls  limp  but  for  only  a  moment  before  he’s  back  to  wakeful  consciousness  again  ,      twisting  against  both  pain  and  numbness  .      there  are  a  thousand  promises  echoing  through  his  mind  ,      and  a  thousand  promises  that  could  slip  through  his  weak  grasp  at  the  moment  he  decides  he  wants  a  break  from  this  all  .

❝        rather  wait’n    …    die  on  the  ground’n    …    on  you  .        ❞        in  another  sudden  spell  of  clarity  ,      the  outlaw  scrambles  to  sit  himself  up  ,      which  triggers  a  small  round  of  coughing  that  nearly  sends  him  into  the  inky  blackness  right  then  and  there  .      now  simply  breathing  hurts  .      another  groan  through  his  grit  teeth  .      he  can  taste  blood again  ,      but  he  ignores  it  ,      gaze  seeking  charles'  .        ❝        hey    …    pu'  m'on  the  ground  ,      wi'y    …    i  w'  sleep  a  while  .            ❞

╰ ゜TLOZ : TP STARTERS.  /  𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.

[worsethanwolves]

" it looks worse than it feels. " from charles.

        —       @wildark | ( x )

        of course the concerned look on Arthur's features cannot be denied as soon as he sees his gang member return to their new camp near Valentine. the air is still cool but it's a welcome change after what they've been through in the mountains — but that's an entirely different story.

        anyhow, Charles has never been one to leave camp all on his own and if he does, he's usually hunting. also the bruises he's covered in don't look like they've been caused by a human individual.

        ❝ you sure? ❞, Arthur asks, eyebrows raised in disbelief. as soon as Taima is hitched he hurries to his friend's side : not exactly helping him down, but making sure he dismounts his mare safely. ❝ what the hell happened to you, anyway? c'mon, you look like you could use some rest. ❞

        is he being overly protective of Charles? maybe. does him being aware of the fact change anything? no — not really.